


A Song for Open Skies

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Meetings, Fix-It, Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 17:04:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eöl has died. Aredhel is free - to travel, to wander, perhaps more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Song for Open Skies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zdenka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zdenka/gifts).



> For Zdenka, who asked for Aredhel/Haleth AU. I hope this counts as a plausible beginning! (This story is not nice to Eöl, but then I hope that makes sense from Aredhel's standpoint).

The weeks from Lómion’s fiftieth begetting day leading up to midsummer were rainy, with thick clouds hanging to earth like grey sheets. They wove between the trees of Nan Elmoth and swelled the rivers; the dimness and steady sound of water put Aredhel in mind of Vinyamar and diving into the kelp forest as she had sometimes done, to fish or simply enjoy the unworldliness of the underwater landscape.

She had the luxury to indulge in those thoughts, even wander around the house speaking them aloud in Quenya while Eöl and Lómion had gone to the celebrations of the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains. Eöl’s servants might report her use of the forbidden tongue when he returned, but they did not understand what she said. And returning from the dwarf-mines often put Eöl in a fairer mood than was usual for him, so that she was not afraid of repercussions when he returned.

To prove herself that, she even sang. The words sounded strange to her ears. They shattered the silence well enough, but they were a song for open skies, to be sung on a hunt or a ride far afield, not choked in a tangle of trees and clouds. 

The servants gave her stares that would have withered stone that she dared sing at all.

* * * 

Time was washing on toward the equinox, and Eöl and Lómion had still not returned, far past Eöl’s latest return yet. Perhaps Lómion was enamoured of the Dwarves’ great delvings, she told herself, and he was young yet, with many things to learn. Surely, she told herself, instinct would have told her if some ill had befallen her son. 

And sure enough, one night of rain brought a storm of noise and light into the courtyard between the main house, the stables and the forge. Her heart leapt; a whole caravan had come - dwarvish traders, by the looks of the high-packed mules, and a tall, pale figure standing movelessly and seemingly lost among the bustling of the shorter people. One figure only - that of Lómion, and the moment his painfully bright eyes lit on hers through the window, she could read in the near-feral, uncomprehending shock in them that Eöl would no longer be returning.

* * * 

" - a rock-slide, it was. The mine was built by the springs of Ascar, and it was raining in the mountains much more than it did here. The Naugrim believe the rain must have destabilized the mine; he and many workers were torn from a cliff, and into a chasm. None of them lived. Their bodies were recovered and interred with honour in the same place, the mine was shut and abandoned. I had stayed in Nogrod that day; there was forge-work Father had ordered me to do."

Aredhel pulled Lómion’s head against her shoulder and stroked his dark hair. His account had been spoken in a numb voice that she recognized as long ago as her father reporting the death of Finwë, or the survivors of the Ice counting their losses. For herself, the feeling of being underwater had returned, sounds coming dimly and at a distance while her mind provided her the image of a gaping black chasm flickered through with the light of torches from above - and among the rocks like a crushed maggot, Eöl’s white, twisted body.

She could not muster pity, could not muster much of any feeling at all, although she offered the dwarves with their grief-torn beards the guest-house and every hospitality for the duration of their stay. The caravan bore their atonement-gifts - caskets of jewels and ore in recompense for Eöl’s death that she had no use for, but could not refuse. 

"It is best you take them,” she said to Lómion. "It is all the inheritance your father will leave you, but I can give you more. Do you remember the safe route that I taught you, to the Dry River and the dark gate?"

Lómion nodded warily.

"It is time for you to take the inheritance of the Noldor as well, I think. Though your father denied it, you are a Prince of the Noldor also, and your place no longer is Nan Elmoth unless you truly wish to remain. It is Gondolin now."

Lómion made a soft noise that was not quite distress. "Are you not coming with me?" 

Aredhel cupped his pale face. "Not yet, my heart. You had the chance to farewell your father; for me, it might as well be a fanciful story until I have seen his resting place. If I go to Gondolin with you now, I do not know when such a chance will come again. My brother will treat you well, and young though you are, I know that you will be safe and find great honour there. Go west now, Lómion, and I shall turn east, but I promise that I will be following you."

* * * 

Eöl's house lay in a fold in the land, and every way from it went uphill through a thicket of trees that bent under years of dead leaves and lichen. Aredhel was drenched with rain by the time she reached the forest's edge, but even under the murk of the low-hanging clouds she felt compelled to shield her eyes from the sky's relative brightness against the night-dark of the forest behind her, now still and empty. She imagined, briefly, young trees sprouting from the seeds she had scattered before leaving, stretching their limbs from the open windows, breaking through the roof, returning the house to the forest at last. No longer would Eöl lure travellers there, skulking through the shadows past his door.

Lómion had gone with the dwarves for an escort before they would turn south into Dimbar and thence into Doriath for trade while he would have to cover the final miles alone. Eöl's servants had vanished after the news of their master's death as though any bond or spell he might have held them under had dissolved. Aredhel travelled east, picking her way into Estolad and swerving in wide bends around the settlements of Men whom she had only heard of in few and unkind tales, took to, sleeping on damp earth and living off the land - rain-washed herbs, hares that strayed within arrow's reach, bitter blackberries, not yet fully ripe. It was slowly that a sense of freedom returned to her, her journey resumed after fifty-and four years of captivity. She missed Lómion, but comforted herself that he would by that point be seated in honour with Idril and her brother.

It stopped raining, more and more. By the time she found the ford across Gelion into Caranthir's land, the sky still was grey, but the sun was breaking through the clouds more and more often, enough for her skin to tighten and itch under its light.

She tried not to think about what was now past, startled herself out of sleep with the dream-image of Eöl, returned, standing at her campfire. She sang again, too, while she bandaged her hands, where soon the blisters would give way to the bow-callouses she had lost while Eöl had held her confined. 

_The maggot_ , she thought again, thinking of his pale body broken in the rockslide, but now more than an image, more than numb acceptance, ripe with revulsion and - she was startled to discover, inevitably looking over her shoulder - almost something like joy - chains falling loose that had kept her head bowed and demure now sliding off her. That he had had used magic on her she knew, but what shape that had taken she was not sure - nor very certain she wanted to know. Nonetheless she turned south toward Nogrod, leaving it to her horse to pick the way. If she never reached the dwarf-city, instead wandered past the dwarf-city into the unexplored reaches beyond the mountains or further south into the lush forests of Ossiriand for the winter, she might not mourn the delay. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by the silver flash of a gyrfalcon circling above the treeline against the light sky. Her cousins had taken to hunting with them last she had known, and these were Caranthir's lands - perhaps she had - as luck would have it - found them in the wilderness.

The falcon dropped from her sight past the treetops, and Aredhel spurred her horse to follow, laughing with the sudden awareness of her freedom. The song she had last sung in Eöl's house sprang to her lips.

"Hunter!" 

The cry stopped her dash through the trees. It was only when she cast around for the woman's voice that it occurred to her that she did not know the language - nor was it an elvish voice who had called out to her, but the meaning echoed clearly through her mind nonetheless. Then it came again, accompanied by a jolt throughout her at the answering laughter and the flash from curious brown eyes watching her across a clearing.

"Hunter! I am here!" 

A woman in brown leather stepped from the dappled shadow of a tree into the open light, herself with a hunting bow of strange make on her back, an open ring of twisted gold around her neck; the falcon on her hand fluttered his wings and hewed into the piece of meat on her glove. Aredhel paused, a little uncertainly, and gave her a smile. The woman moved through the tall grass that reached well past her hips, and nodded, offering her free hand to help Aredhel off the horse. This close, there was an glint of strength and unchecked freedom in her eyes.

Aredhel took her hand, warm through her bandages.

**Author's Note:**

> Since Finrod managed to understand Men at their first meeting, I took the liberty to give Aredhel the same skill.


End file.
